Limbo might be the worst place a man can be.​Even Hell is a final destination. Limbo is neither a destination nor a point between two destinations. Being in Limbo is akin to floating through space. There is nothing to orient yourself to and a compass does you no good because north could be south and east, west. To be in Limbo is to be without direction. Even simpler: directionless. A terrible state for any man and a death sentence for a young man in his twenties.

I wrote about giant houses in big fields in my journal last night. This is what I wrote:

"I don't know how else to describe what I see other than an intense disappointment. Anger, perhaps. More and more I see what used to be lush forests, cow pastures and green grass turn into a plot of land for some gigantic brick and stone eye sore. Around these elaborate caves are a handful of hand-picked trees; all the trees that occupied the land before the cave came are all gone. Then, as if it weren't bad enough, the occupants of these caves pour asphalt over the grass to create a path to their cave for their elaborate vehicles to drive down. The grass around the cave was home to many rodents, which, in turn, attracted many birds of prey and canis latrans (coyote), which usually meant deer would be there, too. All that is replaced by manicured lawns and fertilizer. Rodents are exterminated, the wild life goes away altogether.